


Daisies in November

by Missy



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Angst, Friendly Ghosts, Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Haunting, Trick or Treat: Trick, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 19:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16102238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: Alma lingers, like an old song or a poem -  in his life.





	Daisies in November

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OzQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/gifts).



He doesn’t know when he starts looking for her, or why. He’s been happy here, hovering over his daughter, trying to make sure she was being raised correctly. He split his time between the office and Mary Anne, acting the part of a monk, trying to keep his daughter’s ears unpierced and her hair in braids.

Trying to stop time from moving, because its car-crash violence had a way of taking the good and the innocent from him in a wash of pain and anger.

So he doesn’t intend to start looking for Alma, but Alma looks for him. Leaving behind the scent of fresh flowers. Breaking up the solid white light like a prism, turning all of the golden things into a wild rainbow under his dazzled gaze. It was Mary Anne being asleep on the couch one minute and tucked into her bed the next, without having woken in the interim. It was a million things at once, it was nothing at all.

It was knowing he was being watched, maybe even judged, when cleaning the house. It was wildflowers that were native to Florida blooming in his Connecticut garden, and the taste of chocolate chip cookies on his lips when he hadn’t eaten for hours.

He hadn’t sought her, but she was here, watching. Standing in the shadows. Loving Mary Anne, even though Mary Anne didn’t know or feel it. Loving him, even though he could only see and know so much.

It was the note on his bedside table telling him he was doing fine – the one that he thought he’d invented, the one he hid from Mary Anne and wouldn’t show her until he was ready to join his Alma in the great beyond.

When that day came, he’d take her hand and kiss its dove-white back. He would surrender without hesitation.

Lay it down and walk away, fearless.


End file.
